


The Only Things I'm Absolutely Sure Of

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Character Development, Fluff, Future Fic, I Blame Tumblr, Implied Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mickey Uses His Words, Mickey is divorced, Naked Cuddling, Terry is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shouldn't sneak up on me, man." he quipped. <br/>     Ian crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "You're telling me you didn't know I was home?"<br/>     Mickey plucked the stick from him lips and blew out the smoke. "Nope," he lied, "not a clue."<br/>     Ian snorted and took a step closer. "So Mandy's a liar?" he challenged.<br/>     Mickey didn't answer, just sucked on his cigarette. Of course he had known Ian was coming. Mandy had been reminding him everyday for a month, had put a reminder on the calendar in his phone that rang every fucking hour for the past two weeks, had called him that morning to lecture him: "get your shit together, asswipe." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or the one where Ian comes home from the army after ten years and Mickey actually talks for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Things I'm Absolutely Sure Of

**Author's Note:**

> Was cruising on tumblr and saw a quote about freckles (featured in this fic) that hit me with Gallavich feels. 
> 
> And then this happened. 
> 
> Rated M for language and one little, itty bitty sexual comment.

He looked different, it shouldn't have surprised Mickey as much as it did. The redhead had filled out even more, but in a way that was more sinister and lethal than it had been when he was sixteen. The first glance at Ian made Mickey's heart pound, but not from nerves or anticipation or some shit; Mickey was scared of Ian Gallagher.   
Not in the way he had been all those years ago, because of the feelings the younger man had forced him to feel. No, Mickey took one look at what he mentally deemed as 'the new Gallagher' and knew the kid- who, admittedly, was no longer a kid- could kill him with one hand tied behind his back. Mickey realized Ian probably could have always done just that, but back then the Milkovich's body never registered Ian as a threat.   
He blew out a breath as he made his muscles relax. He smirked at the way Ian leaned against the doorway like he owned the place. He lit up a cigarette, eyeing his Gallagher from where he stood on the other side of his shitty bedroom in his shitty apartment in this shitty building in shitty Chicago.   
"Shouldn't sneak up on me, man." he quipped.   
Ian crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "You're telling me you didn't know I was home?"  
Mickey plucked the stick from him lips and blew out the smoke. "Nope," he lied, "not a clue."  
Ian snorted and took a step closer. "So Mandy's a liar?" he challenged.  
Mickey didn't answer, just sucked on his cigarette. Of course he had known Ian was coming. Mandy had been reminding him everyday for a month, had put a reminder on the calendar in his phone that rang every fucking hour for the past two weeks, had called him that morning to lecture him: "get your shit together, asswipe."   
And Mickey intended to; Ian might have changed physically, but Mickey had changed mentally. He opened his mouth to say as much, but was stopped before he could even start.   
"Where is she?" Ian asked, and Mickey could tell by the dark look in his eyes that he didn't mean Mandy.   
Mickey shrugged, putting his cigarette out on the tray on the table by his bed, "Divorce."  
"Bet your dad's real broke up about that," Ian said cautiously.  
Mickey shrugged again. "Dead."   
Ian's head snapped up at that. "Really? Terry's dead?" Mickey nodded. "Shit, Mick," Ian mumbled and took another step closer, "I'm sorry."  
"You were right," Mickey blurted out, not looking at Ian.   
"About what?" Ian asked, confused.  
"Everything," Mickey said and forced himself to look up. He could tell by Ian's expression that he needed to elaborate. "Back then," he started and waved his hand, "I didn't know... I didn't know anything, man. I didn't know how I felt or what to do. I just, I didn't fucking know."   
Ian hardened his face. "So," he drawled out, "do you know now?"  
Mickey swallowed hard and closed the space between them. "All I really know," he whispered, reaching up to brush his thumb on Ian's face, "is that you have exactly forty-two freckles smattered across your cheeks. There is a scar above your left eyebrow from the time you fell off your bike when you were nine." The Milkovich traced said scar with his forefinger. He dropped his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. He chewed his bottom lip before fondly adding, "You hate math because you don't think there is really a solution to every problem. You like staying up late and reading books." He looked down and laced his rough, calloused fingers with Ian's long ones. "It's easy to make you laugh," he smiled briefly but then frowned as he said, "and pretty hard to make you cry." He fixed his eyes on Ian's and whispered, "I hate that I've managed to do that."   
Thunder clapped outside, making both men jump. Ian stared at the window and Mickey stared at him. "You like storms because the sound of rain hitting your window makes you feel less alone."  
Ian looked back down at Mickey, wondering how he could possibly know things that Ian hadn't even said out loud.   
"I know," Mickey whispered, putting his free hand on the back of Ian's neck and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb, "that I am in love with you and these are the only things I am absolutely sure of."  
Ian made a noise in the back of his throat, like a sob mixed with a protest. He cut it off by pressing his lips onto Mickey's. The Milkovich used his hand to pull Ian closer. He wrapped his arm around the redhead's waist and ground their crotches together. Ian moaned into his mouth. Mickey broke the kiss off and hooked his hands into Ian's jacket to pull the Gallagher down on top of him.

 

Hours later, after each of them had come more than humanly possible, they were watching some stupid late night show on Mickey's Tv in his room. Neither of them were really interested in what was happening on screen; they were just content to finally be together. Ian had his head on Mickey's chest, the older man tracing patterns on skin absentmindedly.   
"Love you too," Ian said, tilting his head up to look at Mickey, "You know that, don't you, Mick?"  
"Yeah, Gallagher, I know."   
Ian buried his face in Mickey's neck. "Missed you," he mumbled.  
Mickey nuzzled Ian's cheek with his own- something he'll deny later- and sighed. "Missed you too, Firecrotch." Ian repositioned himself, both of them turning their attention back to the show. Mickey ran his hand up and down Ian's spine. "Missed you a lot," he murmured, as if to himself.   
Ian pressed his ear to Mickey's ribs, and fell asleep to the sound of the Milkovich's heartbeat, the ticklish sensation of fingernails on his back and the warm feeling of love so strong in the air he could have choked on it.


End file.
